Salvaged
by delminions
Summary: A short H2OVanoss one-shot: As Jonathan stands in the night one a peaceful bridge, he contemplates his friendship with Evan and the trials and tribulations they have faced thus far.


Heart beating, tears spilling, feet stilling.

Under the pale silvery moonlight on the glistening wooden bridge, an equally pale man stood, distraught. The pallid complexion and the red in his eyes and his lips told said every word that needed to be said about the man, and told every story that the man could have told on his own – that is, if he would let the story slip out of the mouth that easily. For the first time in a very long time, he was crying, sobbing like a little child and choking on his tears.

They had been drifting steadily further and further away from each other for so long. Their interactions declined every time they met, from being able to comfortably sling their shoulders around each other and joke and laugh about everything in the world that they saw and found funny together, to spending protracted moments of long silences with each other, barely even making eye contact with each other. As time went on, it went from bad to worse, and it was almost as if they never knew each other from the start.

 _What broke us?_ He thought to himself as another tear trickled down his face, dripping off his face and into the water below the bridge he stood upon.

It couldn't have been their first meeting – things were too fragile back then. Both of them had tried to be on their best behavior, to appear their best and to act their best in front of each other. A small part of Jonathan wanted to impress the perfect man in front of him more than anything, yet, he could not feel comfortable enough to do anything unnatural. And so Jonathan stuck to being himself, his old, goofy self with the odd laughter. It wasn't long before he caught onto the fact that the perfect man actually _liked_ him the way he was – he would catch glimpses small, coy smiles from him directed at Jonathan and Jonathan alone.

It might've been the time when he found Jonathan slumped in an alleyway at the back of a club, a few weeks into their newfound friendship. Jonathan had stormed out to take a break, far away from the drunken jabs that their friends had made at him. Maybe it was the effect of the alcohol that had shortened his usually high tolerance for such matters, but that night, he was annoyed to no end. He needed a little puff of relief, and he slumped himself in one corner in the alleyway, holding the papery stick between his fingers and lighting it with shaking hands. The first suck of smoke into his system calmed him significantly, the numbing effects of the burning drug seeping through every nerve. With a satisfied sigh, he released a cloud of smoke and a chest full of frustration into the environment around him.

It was then that the man appeared, his dark brows furrowed in disapproval as he towered over Jonathan. Seething with annoyance, he snatched the smoldering object out of Jonathan's fingers with impressive agility, and threw it aside on the ground. "It's not good for you," he growled. "Don't start killing yourself before we're even started."

It might've been the time when Jonathan felt himself drawn to his escape from pain stronger than ever, another few weeks after that incident in the alleyway at the back of the club. His temper had become much shorter than it had been in the weeks that had past – a clear sign of withdrawal. Going cold turkey had been a huge struggle, and more than once he had felt a strong temptation to destroy his efforts to quit completely.

What kept him sane was one of the few people that could tolerate him at his worst – the very same man that had insisted he quit. He had put up with Jonathan's temper and the annoying little habits that Jonathan picked up to deal with the removal of his usual outlet. He had allowed Jonathan to yell at him, to punch, kick and scream like a spoilt child whenever something got on his nerves, and he had vouched for Jonathan's behavior with an incredible grace whenever Jonathan did something incredibly stupid or annoying. He did all that for Jonathan, and he did more. He made Jonathan feel at ease, constantly distracting Jonathan from the effects of withdrawal by busying Jonathan with a variety of other activities. "I just want to hear you laugh," he had said. "I don't want you to stay this way and be this miserable forever."

Whatever he did was akin to magic, for some time down the road, Jonathan felt the urges mute themselves, almost never flaring up at all. He knew that the beast in him had only went to sleep, lying dormant somewhere deep within him, prone to waking up at any point of time once the temptation dangled itself in its face, but all that was changed by the man who was determined to set Jonathan straight. "Your body is a temple," he insisted. "Don't ruin it. It's a painful process, but look, I'm sticking around until you stop playing with fire and start living your life properly."

"I _was_ living properly," Jonathan replied bitterly. "I just needed one every now and then –"

"You were going through _packs_." He interrupted. "Dozens a day. And you weren't like that the day I met you. What happened to you?"

"None of your business."

The man glanced over at him darkly. "Luke would have disapproved."

"Shut up." Jonathan murmured, his chest stinging from the remark. "Don't talk about him like you knew him."

"You're right, I didn't. He passed not long after I met the two of you. Is that why you've resorted to all that? Because he's gone and you can't take it anymore?"

"Shut up!" Jonathan yelled.

"No, I won't, because it's the truth, isn't it? I'm not going to watch you ruin yourself because Luke's gone. I've lost someone I could've known so much better, I'm not going to fucking lose you as well!" he yelled back, ending the conversation effectively.

Even in the most trying of times, they had stuck together for good. What else could have caused them to drift?

It might have also been the time when Jonathan got dead drunk on New Year's Eve – something that he almost never did before. The Jonathan of today that stood on the wooden bridge under the soft glow of the moonlight barely could remember what he was even drinking about in the first place, for he had always held back on his drinking even if it were the New Year. All he knew was that he drank much more than he should have, and began saying things and doing things that he shouldn't have. And through the fuzziness of the memory that was that night, however, he remembered something a little more clearly than the rest.

It was just after he downed his final shot boldly, raising his arms like a daredevil about to do the greatest of his stunts. He could barely tell if the noise that surrounded him were cheers from his friends, jeers from others or simply just loud music blaring from the speakers in the room. All he knew was that it was noisy and loud, and his head was swimming heavily, with each passing moment causing the world around him to swirl. Everything seemed funnier than usual and brighter than usual, and as he watched the blur of colors dance before his eyes, it occurred to him suddenly that he had to go see his friend, who was probably sulking in embarrassment in a corner somewhere whilst drinking himself silly as the clock slowly ticked down to midnight.

When he found the dark-haired man, he chuckled at the state of sobriety that he was in. "You're supposed to get drunk on New Year's Eve," Jonathan teased as he stumbled towards him. "You always do. You did last year, at least."

"That's because I was in a stupid mood last year. I'm not going to this year, so there." He replied.

"Pft," Jonathan dismissed. "Have a drink before the – the countdown starts, at least."

"I'm driving, remember?" He snapped at Jonathan sharply. "God, you're too shitfaced to even remember the argument we had about coming to this party, don't you? I only said I was coming because you said you needed a driver."

"I only said that because I wanted you to come, dumbass." Jonathan quipped. "If not, I would've simply gotten a cab."

His eyes widened sharply at Jonathan's revelation, and he suppressed a yell, "You _know_ how much I fucking _hate_ –"

"Oh, come off it, 'your-body-is-a-temple' guy." Jonathan drawled, a playfulness tinging his tone. "You _never_ relax, and I brought you here to relax. And instead of relaxing you're just – sulking in a corner like a child."

"I can't relax when I'm fucking worried about you!" he bit back hotly.

"Fuck worrying about me, then, god!" Jonathan retorted just as he heard the countdown start in the room behind them – _Five, four, three_ …

 _Two –_ "And while you're at it," Jonathan breathed, closing in on the man.

 _One_ – "Fuck me, too." He closed the gap between the two, their lips meeting tenderly in a smooth, fluid motion just as the room behind them burst into cheers of 'Happy New Year!'

Jonathan sighed, wiping feverishly away at another teardrop that had escaped his eyes as he stared at the shimmering reflection of the moon in the water. He remembered how tender his friend's lips had felt, and how soft the skin on the soft pink mound felt. He remembered how their lips had moved together, Jonathan nipping the man's lips eagerly, and as he responded, reciprocating with tender little pecks at Jonathan's bottom lip, Jonathan parted his lips, taking his mouth fully and feeling his tongue entwine around his friend's. It was possibly the most phenomenal kiss that Jonathan had ever had, and he could swear that the alcohol that he had consumed had nothing at all to do with that.

 _It was that time_ , Jonathan thought to himself as another teardrop streaked down his face. _It had to be_.

Thinking further into it for a few long moments, Jonathan was certain that it was, for almost immediately after the incident, on the morning after, he could already feel their friendship crumbling around them.

He had woken up with a weight on his head, barely able to process the bright light around him and ticking that seemed almost too loud by his bedside. It was only after a long time before he realized that he was at home, and had somehow made his way home the night before. The only question was _how_.

His question was answered just as his dark-haired friend peeked through the door of his bedroom with inquisitive, yet troubled eyes. "What happened?" Jonathan croaked, his throat dry and his voice hoarse.

"You don't remember?" He murmured softly through the doorway.

"Not really." Jonathan answered simply. "I'm hungover for a reason."

He watched as the dark brown eyes twinkled sadly for a moment, and the man simply turned away. With a sharp thud, the door to his apartment slammed shut, and that was the beginning of his friend, his best friend leaving his life once and for all.

The drift had begun. For the first month or two, the texts that they sent to each other diminished. Jonathan would send a series of texts, an entire string of them to tell his friend about what had happened, what was funny to him and all that they used to converse about with great zeal before. What had changed now was that he would not get a reply. It slowly went from a single reply for every four or five messages, to none at all. Whenever Jonathan called him up to ask why, he simply dismissed it, saying that he was busy and when he finally got around to reading Jonathan's texts, he didn't know how to reply without feeling like he would disturb Jonathan.

Eventually, over the next few months, even their calls ceased to be. By the end of five months, Jonathan could barely ever get through at all, only having his call connect once before the line was cut immediately. And so he took to leaving voice messages for the man, with the very first of the series going – "Hey man, we haven't hung out in forever. You don't even reply to my texts anymore, and you don't even take my calls anymore. I just kind of miss you, man. Life sucks without you."

Even their friends had been careful about which pieces of information they had on Evan to tell Jonathan. They told Jonathan to go talk to Evan personally, to look for Evan and ask him what's really going on, but each time that was brought up, Jonathan simply replied – "He doesn't even want to speak to me. He's not replying to my texts or taking my calls!"

His remarks would be met by gazes exchanged between his friends, and they simply fell silent.

It was only a few months down the road that they had met again, at a party that their friends had quietly set up and invited the both of them to. He had a girl on his arm – youthful, charming and perfectly well-mannered, with mildly tanned skin and a cheeky disposition. After the initial greetings and an awkward exchange of glances between Jonathan and the man, they lingered as far away as possible from each other. _He didn't even say hi to me_.

The girl had leaned close to the man throughout the entirety of the event. There was something interesting in the way she looked at Jonathan every once in a while, as though she could see right through Jonathan and into his mind. Within a split second of gazing knowingly at Jonathan, the cheeky glint in her eye reappeared, and she would lean closer to Evan, hugging his arm closer to her body. Whenever she did so, Jonathan could feel a searing in his chest, and he would bite his lip and look away as much as he could. What really did it for him was near the end of the night, when another exchange of the same sort occurred. This time, her gaze had turned impatient, as though she was expecting something from Jonathan, perhaps a reaction of some sort. It was evident that she was doing all she could to get Jonathan to notice her and his best friend, and Jonathan had been quite unwilling after realizing so to give her the satisfaction of seeing his annoyance.

She, however, knew how to play at Jonathan's game. Swiftly, she propped herself up on her toes and landed a quick kiss on Evan's cheek. In that one short moment, the world had been set on fire around Jonathan, and he had had enough. His chest hurting and aching, he bolted out of the front door, not turning back even when he heard his name being called out by all of his friends. All he knew was that he wanted to run – and he kept running, farther and farther away as far as his legs could take him, and he only finally came to a stop by the wooden bridge illuminated by the silvery moonlight.

Heart beating, tears spilling, feet stilling, he thought of his relationship with the man he had quietly fallen in love with over the course of their friendship. He had pulled Jonathan out of a hellhole of smoking and mild substance abuse he had dug himself into years ago. He had taken care of Jonathan in the place of a brother that was long gone, and he had showered Jonathan with more affection than he needed. He had showered Jonathan with so much affection that Jonathan had fallen in love with him, and he had kept his feelings under wraps as much as he could. In the one time that he let it out by mistake, he broke their friendship apart. Now, the man that he loved was in the hands of another person. It broke his heart to watch them be together, and more than anything, Jonathan just needed peace.

And so he did what he had done years back at Luke's funeral, and he reached for a packet of cigarettes and pulled out one of the strong-smelling papery pipe of nicotine.

Within an instant, however, someone had snatched the cigarette out of his fingers and threw it into the water below him. The rest of the pack was soon out of his hands, going straight into the water as well. Jonathan swiveled around on his feet, to find the tall dark haired-man staring at him with unbelieving, angry eyes.

"I thought I made you fucking quit that shit!" He growled. "Now you're going to go kill yourself slowly –"

"Fuck off, Evan." Jonathan spat, the venom seeping into his voice. "You don't give a shit about me. You stopped nearly a year ago."

"I didn't fucking stop giving a shit about you, you fucking moron."

"Yeah?" Jonathan challenged. "All those calls and texts that you didn't ever return? _That_ 's called giving a shit?"

"That's called being busy, you fuck. My sister was in some shit and I had to fucking help her."

"Yeah, right. And you come back here with your new girlfriend in tow, happy little couple and all that jazz."

"What?" Evan eyed him incredulously, his eyes widening as he realized what Jonathan was thinking. "That – you fucking idiot. _That was my sister_. I brought her here because she needed to get away from the shit she was getting into back home!"

Jonathan blinked at Evan, confused, the burning heat in his eyes and his chest slowly dissipating. "Your sister."

"Yeah. Couldn't you tell? God, I thought it was so obvious. I had to help her get away from home. I brought her to the party to treat her, since she's been great help for me as well."

"Your sister." Jonathan repeated.

"Yeah, say it however many times you need before it gets into your system." Evan said, glowering as he got closer to Jonathan. "We have business to settle, me and you."

Jonathan opened his mouth for a moment, and then closed it again, not knowing how to respond.

Evan chuckled. "Remember New Year's Eve? Well, you said you didn't remember, but I do. And I think you'd remember this, as well."

Their lips met for the first time since that night. Somewhere in Jonathan's brain, a voice reminded him that he was right – the experience of kissing Evan was amazing, and the alcohol didn't mess with it. His lips _were_ soft and tender, and he _did_ return Jonathan's kiss eagerly enough. As their lips parted gently and their tongues met, Jonathan's chest was set on fire – a very different fire from the anger and annoyance that he had felt before. His head was swimming pleasantly as waves of joy rolled through his body.

They slowly parted as Jonathan began gasping for air underneath Evan, and Evan gently caressed Jonathan's cheek, wiping the dried streaky trails on his cheek.

"I'm sorry," he breathed. "I've started… feeling ways I doubted I should have had for you. And that night, when you kissed me… it drove me wild. I _wanted_ you, Jonathan. I couldn't figure out why or how or what those feelings were at that time. I just needed to know if you really felt what I did. And when you woke up… I was sad to know you didn't remember a thing."

"Evan…" Jonathan started, but was silenced with a soft shush from the man embracing him.

"I went home, and all that stuff happened with my sister. I'll tell you about that later, but she's been great help. She thought I was in love with you. And she thought you probably felt the same, too. It's why tonight…" He sighed. "She says she's sorry she pushed it that far. She was getting concerned that you really didn't…"

"Evan." Jonathan interrupted, his mind slowly growing clearer. "You've been everything I had for the past few years. When Luke died… you were there. When I got hooked onto all that shit, you set me on the right path, and you were more than understanding when I threw those fits. It hurt when you disappeared, and I hate you so much."

He watched as something in Evan's eyes extinguished itself, and as an abrupt sadness took over in the darkness in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I had to… take time to figure out how I felt…"

"No, Evan, just wait and listen." Jonathan continued. "I hate you so much because I _love_ you, Evan, I love you so much. I need you. Is that enough, Evan? Was that what you needed to know the whole of tonight?"

There was no answer from the man. He simply took Jonathan into another kiss, this time passionate, heated and eager. Somehow, somewhere in Jonathan's mind, he knew he was right. What he also knew, was that by dawn, he would be a shaking, quivering mess, spent and satisfied in Evan's bed, the bed of the man that loved him.


End file.
